Promise
by Cloudsinmycoffee9
Summary: Robert receives some news, Cora rushes to comfort him.
1. Chapter 1

She sat on the sofa in the library, attending her needlework in the late afternoon, wondering and trying not to worry about what was taking Robert so long. They usually spent a few hours here together, having tea and chatting about their day and the children, waiting for Nanny to bring in their grandchildren. But he'd had to leave soon after kissing her goodbye during her breakfast. Cora caught herself looking towards the door every few moments, anticipating his return, before finally setting down her sewing and giving up any pretense of productivity as she waited.

She'd missed him all day after the morning they'd shared. It had been too long since they'd started the day so - waking up to his hands running down her side with purpose, finding the hem of her nightgown and the smooth lengths of her legs, and rolling her beneath him to start kissing her lazy smile before she'd even opened her eyes. Her hands went quickly to his hair - she loved seeing it so mussed from sleep and then making it even wilder by running her hands through it, scratching her fingers lightly at his scalp as his lips and then tongue met with hers.

"Good morning, my beautiful wife," he'd breathed into her kiss before pressing her deeper into the bedclothes, his hands roaming.

She felt him shift between her legs and opened them to welcome his heat against her, but then suddenly she remembered - "Darling . . . I'm not sure . . . I don't - oh!" she tried to tell him to stop, that this was most definitely _not_ the doctor-recommended rest that he needed before his follow-up appointment today. That they were older now, they needed to be careful, that she had to look after him.

But he'd shaken his head, kissing her again and then - "Cora, I need you," he'd groaned softly in her ear, pulling her arms above her head with one hand and moving the neckline of her gown down far enough to trail hot open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone before capturing a nipple between his lips in a way that made her quickly arch her back further into his embrace and lose any fight she might have had. He was already rocking slowly into her hips and she gave into it - pulling her hands out of his grasp to help them both out of night clothes and closer to each other.

And as she sat gazing at the fire, ready to blame it for the warmth suddenly flooding her cheeks should anyone but Robert enter the room, catching herself smiling at the memory, she should have guessed he'd want her, need her that morning. Nearly 35 years of marriage meant she knew him better than she knew herself in most ways. A small part of her wished she'd worn something more daring, and been the one to wake him up with wandering hands and lips.

He would have never admitted it, but the phone call a few days before had made him nervous. Despite the relief they'd felt at the diagnosis of the ulcer and the steps they'd taken together to make sure his diet was as healthy as could be, the pains in his tummy and sometimes his chest hadn't exactly gone away. More tests had been ordered. More appointments. And each one was a little reminder of their mortality; had made it a little harder to ignore the way that everything seemed to ache a little more than it used to, that they moved slower than they used to and grew tired more easily. The children growing up, Tom and Sybbie moving away, Mary stepping more firmly into the running of the estate by the day, the events of the last year . . . Cora knew her husband and his need to be grounded to the earth, to his beloved Downton, to her. To feel powerful and significant, wanted and needed. To know that some things would never change.

Certain things between them never had, she thought, as her hand wandered up to touch at her neck, remembering his lips beneath her ear and the fevered whispered words he'd sent her over the edge with. She'd never wanted anyone but him with her in every way, in every confidence, a part of every desire.

Her heart fluttered anxiously at the thought of him, wondering what was taking him so long to get back from the doctor's, and suddenly impatient and worried she started for the door when Bates opened it and walked straight across the room to her as if he were searching for her.

"I'm sorry, your Ladyship -" he began.

"Bates - what is it? Where is Robert?" she asked quickly, too impatient for titles, peering around him for a sign of her husband.

"He's returned, but it's just - I'm afraid he had some bad news."

She faltered a moment and reached out a hand to lean against the bookshelf and steady herself. "Oh God, no," she whispered.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply it was from the visit with the doctor. Rather, a telegram was waiting for him, and he seemed quite distressed reading it. He left his dressing room without saying a word, and I hope I'm not out of line, but I thought you should know."

Completely thrown by the turn of events, Cora looked about the room before taking a deep breath to face Bates' worried face again. She had no idea a telegram had been delivered, nor any idea of its contents. "You did the right thing, seeking me out, Bates. Where is he?" she asked softly.

"I believe he went outside, my lady. Shall I call for Baxter to fetch a coat and gloves for you?"

"No, no, please. I don't want to wait. Thank you, Bates," she called back over her shoulder, grabbing a throw blanket Mama sometimes used on the chair by the fire, already walking as quickly as she could to go out the door in search of her husband, suddenly desperate for his hand in hers.


	2. Chapter 2

Bates must have rushed to find her after her husband had walked out, for after walking only a few minutes outside the doors of the Abbey, she could see the tall figure she'd been so desperate to see. He walked with his head down, and even from a distance she could see the telegram clutched in his hands. She guessed where he was heading, and decided not to call out after him, but simply quickened her steps, pulling the blanket more firmly around her.

He was sitting on the bench under the tree when she arrived, and she could tell by the way his head turned slightly to the side that he had heard her approach. He didn't immediately move to stand and greet her, which she couldn't decide was a good sign or not. Surely if the news had been about one of their daughters, or Tom and Sybbie, or Mama . . . she stood for a moment to catch her breath, wondering what to say and then -

"Did Bates send you?" he asked quietly, focusing her thoughts.

"I've been waiting to see you all day, darling. When he said there was a telegram . . . " She chanced a few small steps forward, hoping he'd turn to offer her his hand.

He turned back to look at the crumpled paper in his hands for a moment before running his hands through his hair and turning his face completely away from her.

"It's nothing to trouble you with, Cora." She could hear the thickness in his voice as he spoke, slowly, carefully. "You should go back inside. It's not the least bit warm out here."

A small part of her couldn't help but seize up at his words. He'd promised - promised - to never say them again. That they would never shut each other out again. That he would _let_ her be bothered.

 _She could still hear the words she'd spoken in his dressing room, a few weeks after their reconciliation from the Bricker incident. She'd found him hidden away there, unable to truly face her and fight for their relationship. He'd suggested phoning Murray just to see what it would involve to draw up papers._

 _She'd been livid, of course. Their words had been heated and thrown at each other from several feet away and yet still sharp enough to break through any emotional walls they'd been foolishly hiding behind._

 _So that night, she'd waited for him to come to her. Waited for an apology and a chance to apologize. Robert hated conflict as much as she did, and she felt certain that he'd see reason and seek her out._

 _But he didn't. And she'd waited as long as she could before the only options left were crying herself to sleep and facing life as a divorcee upon the morrow, or breaking down any physical or emotional doors built between them. She'd weighed the circumstances, she'd considered her dear husband, and as always, she'd taken the chance, turning the knob (he hadn't locked it, thank God) and entering his private chambers. His curled form on the tiny bed had moved her straight to him - "Robert!" she'd whispered urgently, sliding behind him, legs tucking into the spaces left by his knees, arms around his neck and shoulders, pressing light kisses to his cheek and neck._

" _Darling," she'd murmured, feeling him relax, if only slightly, against her. "Do you know what I've just been thinking about? Our wedding. So many years together and I can still remember each moment, clear as day. You were so handsome. You smiled so warmly at me. I can still feel the butterflies in my stomach just remembering the way you looked at me."_

 _He chuckled softly. "Cora - you've never had any idea the effect you have on_ _ **me**_ _."_

 _She bit her lip to keep from crying against his neck, breathing deeply to still herself before pressing on._

" _Dearest - you remember, don't you? For better or for worse, Robert. Don't you see? I want to be bothered. I want to be troubled. I want to share any burden with you. You are my husband and I have chosen to walk this life with you. Let me?"_

She was still holding her breath, she realized, when he suddenly looked to her and stood to face her, a mixture of recognition, guilt, and something that had nothing to do with her written across his face. His hand reached for hers and he was before her in a moment.

"I'm sorry, Cora, forgive me. I know we said - " he began, reaching one hand to hold hers and the other angling around her waist. "Darling, you'll freeze out here! Come here at once!" he said, rather harshly, pulling her to him.

With little time to do else but gasp and then fold more comfortably to him, Cora, sank into his arms, Mama's blanket trailing behind her on the grass. She felt Robert reach down behind her for it and pull it over her shoulders. His hands began running up and down her arms, and she burrowed more deeply into his chest, hearing his heart beat - it sounded strong, didn't it? His breaths were regular, his color was good, his appetite healthy - - - no. Cora, _no_. She begged herself to stop running triage on her husband. Whatever may come, it was her duty and her desire to see him through it - to uphold him with her love and strength - not with her meagerly acquired duties as a war nurse.

"Robert?" she asked softly, folded against him so tightly. "Is it the girls? Is it Mama? Is everyone alright. Please. Tell me."

He shook his head and only held her closer. "I'm sorry, Cora. I should have guessed that's where your thoughts might go. But no. It's not our family. And I know you didn't ask, but for once, it's also not about the money." He took a deep breath and steadied himself. She felt his arms around her waist a little tighter. "Cora - it's Howard." She heard and felt the choking in his chest as he tried to hold back all he was feeling. "Howard's gone."


	3. Chapter 3

She felt guilty for it, but she couldn't help a visceral rush of relief at knowing that the person now taken from this world wasn't one of their own family. She had no ill will towards anyone at all, let alone one of her acquaintance, but they'd already been through so much as a family. Sometimes she still had days where she wasn't sure she could get out of bed, knowing that her precious baby had died in a room just a few doors down the hall, or that her eldest daughter's husband would never get to truly know the beautiful son beginning to charm the entire household with his smiles, or that her middle child faced a life of endless questions as she raised her daughter under an adopted identity. And then there was all she and Robert had been through together as a couple . . . sometimes it seemed all too much.

She'd met Howard and his charming wife only a few times in London, but he'd been a longtime friend of Robert's as they'd attended university together and fought side by side in the Boer War. She and Robert had talked briefly about visiting him and his wife on the hypothetical holiday they'd always imagined the two of them taking once the children were grown. But as tragedy after tragedy had seemed to strike at them, neither found themselves truly able to consider leaving Downton for a long period of time. She secretly hoped they might still one day take another trip - a second honeymoon of sorts. It didn't matter where, as long as they could be together and leave the worries and stress of managing the estate behind for even a little while. She'd imagined Paris, Venice, America, but even a few weeks driving through England to visit friends would be marvelous. But it seemed now there was one less person to visit.

Robert rarely talked about his time during the War. Whenever he'd been granted leave, his visits had been brief and filled with family and estate business during the day and holding each other tightly at night. And after they'd made love - urgently at first and then tenderly again - she tried to speak with him about Africa, anxious to help relieve him of the worry she could clearly see written across his features whenever he didn't think she was looking. But he would either shush her and beg her to tell him more about what he'd missed with the children at happenings at Downton, Mama's meddling, Rosamund's parties, anything - anxious for normal conversation. Or, more often than not, he'd brush her hair back from her face, give a quick shake of his head, and pull her body to him again.

But whenever he did speak of it, in halting words and sentences, shaking as he fought the fear of his memories, or simply unsure how much to reveal so as to not frighten her, his stories would nearly always mention Howard. They had bonded over raising small children, and the pain of being away from their families for so long, congratulating each other when one received a letter from home. Howard had been a stand-up chap, and a brave soldier, according to Robert. She could tell by the fond memories and accolades he gave that he really admired and respected his friend, and they'd corresponded often in the years after the war. She was sure his outstanding character and leadership would be missed by many. She spared a thought for his poor wife before thinking again of her husband's pain.

"Oh, my dear," she whispered, angling her head back a bit to kiss his cheek and look at him. "I'm so sorry. I know he was such a good friend to you."

"He certainly was. The funeral is Tuesday next."

"And of course we will go. I'll make the arrangements. I don't want you to worry about a thing."

He nodded mutely, his eyes far away. She longed to comfort him, to hold him in her arms like she could with their daughters when they were young, like she did with their grandchildren now, and promise that everything would be all right, that she would always be there to help him through whatever came their way.

She kissed his cheek again and looked over his shoulder. "So you came to see another good friend to think about Howard?"

He turned to look at the old tree, it's twisted trunk, it's shady branches that leaned over a small mound of earth with a simple headstone with a few dried flowers upon it that read "Isis - Beloved Companion."

"Do you know," he began, and then quickly cleared his throat to continue. "Do you know, sitting at my desk, I sometimes still reach out my hand for her, and have to remind myself she's not there? I miss her terribly. I suppose that's rather foolish of me. A grown man missing a dog."

"Of course not! We all miss her, dearest. But I know you miss her dreadfully so." She reached up a hand to his cheek and he startled at her touch.

"Cora, darling, you're still quite cold! I'm certain you should go inside at once."

"But are you going inside?" she asked softly. "Because if you're not, and if it would help you to have me, I'd prefer to stay with you. And I don't mind the cold so much when you're holding me." She smiled gently at him, and the softening in his eyes at her bold statement told her he wanted her to stay with him, even if he never would have asked.

"If you're sure."

When she nodded, he turned her with him to walk back to the bench where he'd been sitting when she'd found him. Sitting down upon it, he held his arms open to her and she gladly curled into his lap as he tucked the blanket in around her. She smiled as he wrapped her ankles with the blanket, gentle as always, before pulling her close again in his arms.

"Is that better?" he asked.

"Much better, Robert. Thank you." She snuggled into his chest, sneaking her right hand to unbutton his jacket and place her palm over his heart, unable to stop herself from wanting to feel the steady rhythm of it and the heat of his chest for just a moment. "I don't know the last time you've held me like this outside our bedroom," she added, pulling her hand out of his jacket to wrap more comfortably around his waist.

"Too long then, I guess."

"Well then I think we should start taking some advantages with all these modern times the children are enjoying. I rather like being close to you like this," she teased, kissing his cheek. She pulled back, expecting to see a smile on his face, but he was looking at her with an expression of profound sadness.

She studied him for a moment while his eyes traveled over her face, still not speaking. "Robert . . . I feel terrible about Howard, terrible for you - but is there something else that's bothering you, darling? Your doctor's appointment . . ." she trailed off, hoping he would shake his head and assure her that all was well.

He took a deep breath, looking away from her toward the tree, sighing heavily. "The appointment was fine, he will call in a few weeks time. No, it's not that. It's just . . ." his voice trailed off, and Cora gripped him more tightly to her, her left hand winding up his neck to thread her fingers through his hair there. He leaned appreciatively into her touch.

"What, sweetheart? Please tell me," she asked.

He continued staring straight ahead, beginning slowly, "My father died rather sooner than we'd expected, certainly a lot sooner than we would have liked. God - everything seemed like it was falling to pieces at the time, didn't it? But darling we're both older than my father was when he left this world." He paused to take a deep breath, still unable to look at her. "And I was reminded today, receiving this telegram about Howard; Mama once said that this age that we are at, a bit older than she was when Papa died, is the 'funeral season' of our lives. She faced it alone. You didn't know her quite well then, and rightfully so, for she was rather dreadful to you in the beginning of our marriage, and I'm always terribly sorry about her behavior," Cora tucked a quick smile into her chest before kissing him quickly on the cheek in acceptance of the apology he never seemed to stop giving her for the beginning of their lives together. "But the thing is . . . once Papa died . . . she was so changed, so different. So incredibly sad. It's been thirty odd years without him now."

She unconsciously gripped him tighter in his arms, able to follow his train of thought quite easily before he even continued.

"It's just . . . Howard was in perfect health, as far as I know. But we're getting on in years, you and I, and I'm . . . this thing in my chest and in my tummy, the pains I sometimes feel . . . and I am not sure . . . I'm simply not sure that I've . . . " his voice trailed off, and his eyes closed against the unwanted emotions he was feeling.

Her heart hurt deeply for her husband, because she knew how he was feeling. And while she was sure that despite her warning, Violet Crawley would outlive them all, it was a painful thing to reach the age where one's children didn't seem to need one as much, and one had no true occupation to pass the time anymore. And with this news of his friend passing, Robert seemed to be truly facing his mortality for the first time. Her own mother lived on across the pond in America, and it stunned Cora to realize that it must be nearly thirty years that her mother had been a widow as well. She shivered involuntarily and stroked the hair of her very much alive husband as he took another breath and continued.

"I'm just not sure I've done enough. I'm not sure I've been enough." His voice shook as he added in a small voice. "And it terrifies me to think of leaving Downton, even more to think of leaving you alone as my mother has been alone. And to leave our girls and our grandchildren, of course."

He paused for a moment before looking her in the eye. "And Cora - it hurts even worse to think that one day you might leave me."


	4. Chapter 4

She swallowed the lump in her throat, biting her lip against her gut reaction to soothe him with a quick promise she'd never leave him. They'd both been through too much to throw words like that around, knowing life could change in an instant. In an illness. In a car crash. In one's own bedroom, surrounded by doctors and nurses. In a war.

She had thought about it, as she knew he had, too. What would happen if he were to pass away and leave her in this life alone. She would soldier on, she knew she would, if only for the children and the grandchildren and the joy they brought her. And she knew Robert could survive without her, too, even if he didn't want to and didn't think he could. Maybe he would even experience a second love in his life, or at least a companion, as it seemed Mama and Cousin Isobel were finding in their later years. A second chance, of sorts. But even though she tried to be pragmatic about it and unselfish about it, as much as she would want any kind of happiness for Robert should something happen to her and she pass away, whenever she allowed herself to contemplate it, she shuddered at the thought of another woman sharing his life, holding his hand, catching eyes with him across the room. Another woman in his arms, in his bed. No. It simply did not do to dwell on it.

She searched his eyes, pausing before her response, and suddenly she thought that perhaps in his solemn words, there might be something more to his choice of verb - to leave him. She knew her husband tended to feel guilty and nurse old wounds for far too long. Perhaps there was something left in him still wondering about her passing flirtation with that dreadful Mr. Bricker; perhaps there was a lingering doubt about her love for him and commitment to him and their family. And that was a promise she could easily make.

Her breath shaking, she looked over his face tenderly and pressed herself softly into his chest. "Robert - our lives haven't always been easy, and they haven't been perfect. But you have done enough - more than enough. You gave me my life, my girls, you've made this my home. You're my whole heart," she whispered, watching a tiny tear escape down his cheek and feeling the prickling at her own eyes. She attempted a smile as she continued. "I could never leave you. There is nothing in this world that would take me from you."

He looked down shyly and the tiniest wave of a smile crossed his lips, and she knew she had been right to think he was subtly, perhaps even subconsciously, thinking of the months during and after Simon Bricker had entered their lives. She pressed her nose against his cheek and inhaled deeply, moving her hand to grip the collar of his jacket and hold him to her.

"I can't promise not to, not to," she choked quickly over the words, heart racing at the reality that with his possible heart condition still unknown, and his father's history, it was quite possible he would leave this earth before she would. "I can't promise not to die before you, dearest, and neither can you promise that to me. That would be unhelpful. Perhaps even tempt fate. I can only tell you I want nothing more from this life than to spend the rest of it with you. That my dearest wish is to make you happy, see our children and grandchildren happy, and that when we must go, we'll go together, many, many years from now."

A brief stretch of silence passed between them as they both let her words settle over them - a promise to stay side-by-side, no matter what else may come to pass. _For better or for worse_ , Cora thought again, remembering the young, handsome, nervous almost-stranger who she had given her life to at that altar on that sunny day, so many years ago, and then holding the man in her arms now who she knew better than she knew herself. Who she loved more than she loved herself. Dear, dear Robert.

His hand came up to her hair and tucked her face closely against his neck - her special place, 'built just your size, just for you,' he once had said. "That would be nice, wouldn't it, that would be my ideal," he said softly, his hands beginning to pass over her back as she snuggled against him. "Maybe just one night in our bed, after a nice dinner with the children, the fire going, you in my arms."

"Many, many years from now," she added.

"Many, many years from now," he echoed, a hand pulling her chin up to his lips, gently sealing their promise with a kiss.

She pulled back to look at her husband, her dear, dear husband. She noticed the ever-present crease in his brow, the wrinkles at his eyes, the sweet rounding of his cheeks that always made her want to reach out and touch him. He was still so handsome. He still made her heart pound, made her stomach flutter, made her tingle with anticipation with his words and his eyes and lips. They were getting older, no doubt, but whenever she looked at him, she found she only ever saw what she felt - which was nothing but love grown deeper through the years. She hoped desperately that he saw that same love when he looked at her. As she watched a tender smile gather across his face, she thought he might.

"Robert, we still have some time before the dressing gong . . . will you come with me to our room, and - "

"Hold you? Let you hold me?" he chuckled softly. She nodded in agreement, smiling, and moved to stand when he held her back.

"Cora, I just . . . you've my heart, too. And you take such good care of it, darling. I wouldn't trust it with anyone else."

As they walked back to the estate arm-in-arm, as they'd done countless times before, and climbed the stairs to the room that had long since ceased to be hers and had simply become "theirs," as they helped each other undress and slip under the bedclothes and then into each other's arms, holding close, no words were spoken, and none were needed for both to know their love was strong enough, was promise enough, to let them face whatever might come their way.


End file.
